


Harvest Day

by FoxVII



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Battle of Fairy Tail, Developing Relationship, F/M, First Dates, Harvest Festival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:11:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1282216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxVII/pseuds/FoxVII
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Let’s all spend harvest day together next year, okay?”</i><br/>The words rang through Freed’s mind for perhaps the millionth time, coupled, as they always were, with the image of Mirajane’s battered but smiling face. Those words marked the exact moment when he had fallen in love with Mirajane Strauss.<br/>A year later Freed finally works up the courage to ask Mirajane on a date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Courage and Questions

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely fell in love with this pairing after watching Episode 45. And that conversation at the end? Too cute.

_“Let’s all spend harvest day together next year, okay?”_

The words rang through Freed’s mind for perhaps the millionth time, coupled, as they always were, with the image of Mirajane’s battered but smiling face. The brief conversation which had taken place after their battle was one that he would never forget. That conversation had taught him that he was not alone, that he had all of Fairy Tail to rely on. While entire conversation was burned into his memory, those last few words had always held special significance. Freed hadn’t realized why this was the case until much later: those words marked the exact moment when he had fallen in love with Mirajane Strauss.

Love was a complex emotion and not one which he had ever trusted. It was too intense, too unpredictable and, most importantly, too frightening. To truly love one needed to give up a part of themselves to their beloved, namely, their heart. The heart was a delicate, precious thing, one which was easily broken.

In essence, love necessitated a degree of vulnerability. Vulnerability was not a luxury that Freed could afford, not even for the beautiful, Mirajane Strauss. And so, he had kept his distance from her, hoping that, given time, the feelings would fade.

They didn’t.

To his credit, it wasn’t as though he had done nothing about his affections. He had attempted to ask her on a date twice before. Both attempts had ended in failure.

***

The first time he hadn’t even managed to speak the entire request aloud.

He stepped up to the bar, setting his palm against the smooth cool surface to brace himself. “M-mirajane...” He cut himself off, hating the nervous quiver that laced his voice. Why on Earthland would Mirajane agree to go on a date with him if he presented himself as nothing more than a weak besotted fool? No, he needed to be strong. He needed to be worthy of her. He steeled himself and tried again. “Mirajane,” he said again, louder, this time attracting her attention.

“Yes, Freed?” she asked, turning the full effect of her blue eyes on him. She was standing behind the bar, absent-mindedly polishing its already gleaming surface with a white towel.

“I was w-wondering if you would, perhaps...” _No, no, that doesn’t sound right..._ “I mean, if maybe you could do me the honour of...” _Honour? What is this? You’re not asking her to marry you! Tone it down._ “Did you maybe want to...” ‘ _Did you maybe’? That isn’t even decent grammar! Fool!_

Mirajane watched patiently as Freed continued to mentally berate himself, a faint frown creasing her brow. “Freed?” she questioned.

The sound of her voice knocked the last vestiges of his nerve right out of him. “Would you go...get me a drink?” he finished, lamely, blushing red.

“What? Of course! That’s what I’m here for, after all,” Mira replied in her usual sweet way. “What would you like?”

He ordered a beer. He didn’t normally drink and, to his untrained mouth, the liquid tasted terrible. He choked on his first sip and barely managed to excuse himself before he went into a coughing fit.

***

Freed was far better prepared the second time around. His request was carefully scripted: _Mirajane, I was wondering if you wanted to join me for dinner tonight._ He had picked his words carefully to ensure that it was neither too casual, nor too formal. It expressed his interest in clear terms, leaving no doubt that he was asking her on a date. Moreover, the phrasing ensured that that he didn’t sound neither desperate nor overtly nonchalant. It was perfect.

It was a shame that she never managed to hear them.

“Mirajane,” Freed had begun, in greeting.

“Hello, Freed,” she turned her sweet smile on him. His stomach flip-flopped uncomfortably, but he wasn’t about to be undone this time.

“Mirajane, I was wondering if—“

“Squinty-eyes!”

“Flame-brain!”

“Ice princess!”

The rest of his request was drowned out by Gray and Natsu’s bickering. Freed barely managed to duck in time to avoid getting hit by one a stray ice lance. A quick sidestep later and he was not only out of range of Natsu’s flaming fists, but Mirajane’s earshot as well. Besides, the white-haired woman was too busy pleading with the two boys to pay attention to him anyway.

***

The third time he asked her was shortly before the Harvest Day Festival. Exactly one week prior, to be precise.

_“Let’s all spend harvest day together next year, okay?”_

He knew that she wasn’t talking about them specifically when she had said that. It was not a suggestion on her part. But Freed could hope, none the less, that Mirajane would remember that moment, remember what she had said. If so, there was a small chance that Mira would not be, at the very least, disinclined to spend, at least a portion, with him.

He stepped into the guild and took a careful look around. Natsu and Gray were nowhere to be seen. He breathed a small sigh of relief. At least their fighting wouldn’t interrupt him this time. He paused at the guild’s large double doors, taking a moment to watch Mira as she worked. Her movements were graceful and calculated. She attended to everyone with equal devotion, greeted each guild-member with the same sweet smile.

_Perfection._

“Freed!”

Evergreen’s brusque voice jolted him from his trance. He blinked at her, momentarily disoriented. “Yes?”

“Laxus and Bickslow are waiting, hurry up,” she caught hold of his arm as she walked by, pulling him back out of the guild hall.

“I’m sorry?”

Evergreen stopped long enough to fix him with an impatient look. “Our mission?” she asked, annoyance colouring her voice. “Don’t tell me that you’ve forgotten?”

He had. He had been so distracted by thoughts of Mirajane that he had completely forgotten his prior commitment. He cursed himself internally. This obsession of his (and indeed, it could be classified as nothing less than an obsession at this point) needed to be resolved in one way or another. It was as though his feelings for her were eating him up from the inside, leaving him as a mere shell of what he was.

He hated this feeling, but he loved her.

 _“Perhaps I’m losing my mind,”_ he thought, somewhat bemused at the state of his conflicted feelings.

“Hold on there’s something that I have to—“

“No time! The train leaves in twenty minutes, let’s _go._ ” She emphasized her point with a final tug on his arm. Freed relented, allowing himself to be dragged off.

 

***

The mission wasn’t as smooth as they had expected it to be. The enemy was stronger than their intelligence had suggested. Laxus and Bickslow had suggested that they spend an extra day in the village to regain their strength before they begun the journey back to Magnolia. However, that meant that they would have arrived mid-way through Harvest Day. That simply wouldn’t do. Freed was anxious to return to Magnolia as soon as possible. The later he waited to ask Mirajane, the more of a chance there was that she would already have plans with someone else. Granted, they had been gone for nearly four days. The chance that she would be otherwise occupied was still there. 

Though, despite the ticking clock that he was working against, Freed was hesitant to suggest as much, worried that his fellow members of the Thunder Tribe would pick up on his affection for Mirajane. He could only imagine the relentless teasing that would follow.

He was saved from having to say anything by Evergreen, who, oddly enough, seemed to share in his desire to return early. “We’re not staying here,” she declared, “We’re going back tonight.” Clearly she shared none of Freed’s hesitancy in speaking her mind.

“And why’s that, Ever?” Bickslow asked, “Are you rushing back to meet with a special someone?”

“Special someone!” Bickslow’s ‘babies’ echoed behind him.

She shifted uncomfortably but none the less managed to shoot a nasty look Bickslow’s way. “I simply don’t want to spend another day in this rundown place, that’s all,” she said. ‘Rundown’ was an overstatement at best. The village was tidy and well-kept and the beds that they had been offered in thanks for their services were plush and warm.

“Maybe that Strauss boy?” Bickslow continued, somehow managing to smirk with his tongue still hanging out of his mouth, “What’s his name? Elfman?”

“Elfman!” the dolls behind him chirped.

The stricken look on her face was answer enough. She lunged to her feet, fan in one hand raised in an attack. “Oh just lay off! I’m leaving. You all can stay here.”

“It isn’t safe for you to be travelling by yourself,” Laxus pointed out.

“She won’t be,” Freed said, catching Evergreen’s wrist smoothly before she could throttle Bickslow. “I’ll go with her.”

Three pairs of eyes regarded him curiously, “What? If we split up then everyone gets what they want. I’m strong enough to keep going, so it’s only natural that I be the one to accompany Evergreen. That way we can all rest assured that she’s reached Magnolia safely...”

Evergreen raised an eye at that. “I’m not some damsel to be protected,” she said, indignantly. “However...it would be faster if we flew there,” she eyed Freed’s back pointedly. “Slap on a pair of wings and we’ll get going.”

“You two can join us when you’re rested,” Freed said.

“Fine by me,” Bickslow stated, leaning back in his chair. Laxus said nothing but continued to watch them curiously. Evergreen’s intentions were clear. Freed wondered if his own were beginning to show.

***

It was late at night when they had made it back. Freed dropped Evergreen off at the steps of her apartment before using the last vestiges of his strength to fly back to the guild. Mirajane was always the last to leave the guild at night. It stood to reason that she might still be there.

Upon seeing the light pouring out from the windows, Freed relaxed. He landed on the front steps, his elegant fingers closing over handle of guild doors as a sudden wave of exhaustion rolled over him. He half pushed, half clung to the door, throwing his weight against it to open it.

“Oh, hello, we’re just closi—Freed!” Mirajane spun around to look at him, small hands lifting to her mouth as she took in his sorry state. “Your face!”

Blinking, Freed raised a hand to the cheek not covered by his hair, feeling sticky, dried blood. Of course. He had taken a cut to the side of his face during his mission. He had taken care of the wound once the battle had been won, dabbing off the blood and bandaging it the best he could, given his meager abilities as a medic. The wound must have re-opened on his way back.

“It’s just a scratch. I assure you, it looks worse than it is.”

She was at his side in a flash, looking up at him with concerned blue eyes. “Come in, sit down. Let me take care of that,” she wrapped her slim fingers around his wrist, drawing him inside. She brought him over to the bar, helping him up onto a stool before ducking behind the counter and returning with a first aid kit.

She peeled back the ruined bandage and shook her head. “Didn’t you have somewhere to rest before you came back to Magnolia?” she asked, gently dabbing at the blood with a soft towel, cleaning the wound. “You shouldn’t have pushed yourself.” She continued to fuss over him as she applied ointment and then re-covered the cut with a fresh bandage.

“Evergreen insisted,” Freed said, feeling somewhat guilty for pinning the decision on Ever’s shoulders alone. “I think she wanted to get back in time for the Festival and spend more time with...someone.”

Mirajane giggled. “That ‘someone’ wouldn’t happen to be Elfman, would it?” she asked, eyes twinkling. “Your friend wouldn’t happen to have impure intentions towards my little brother, would she?”

“She insists otherwise, but we’re beginning to be suspicious.” His eyes fluttered shut as she pushed his hair to one side, checking him for any further injuries. Her hands were soft, her fingers slightly cold to the touch. He shivered as they ghosted down his neck. Clearing his throat, he pulled back, shying away from her touch. “Would it really be so bad if it was?” he asked, suddenly, blue-green eyes opening once more.

“Would what be bad?” Mirajane asked, tilting her head to one side in confusion.

“If Evergreen really did have feelings for Elfman,” Freed explained. “And...if he returned them. If they were together. Would that really be so bad?” he questioned.

“No, of course not. Why would love ever be a bad thing?”

“But we...we’ve done so much...Caused so much harm...” Freed looked away, suddenly unable to meet her gaze.

“Are you talking about last year? Freed, please. We’ve all forgiven you, you know that.”

“But—“he opened his mouth to protest and found a single, pale finger pressed against his lips, silencing them.

“Water under the bridge,” Mirajane insisted. Her eyes were hard and she spoke in a tone of voice that dared him to argue with her.

Freed smiled, taking her hand in his. He marveled at the size of them. They were tiny compared to his own, and yet they held so much strength and could accomplish so much. “Mirajane...”

“Mira,” she corrected.

“Pardon?”

“My friends call me Mira,” she told him sweetly.

“Mira...” he breathed the name out like a prayer, mind still caught up on what she had said. With the correction, Mirajane had effectively called him a friend. Friend! His heart swelled and then deflated somewhat seconds later. He didn’t want to be her friend. He wanted to be much more than that.

Friendship....at least it was a good start.

“Mira,” he began anew. This time he would ask. This time no one was around to interrupt him. He strengthened his voice and continued on. “I was wondering if you wanted to spend Harvest Day with me.”

She blinked twice, as though processing the request. Then her eyes widened. “You mean, like a date?”

Freed blushed and looked away. “Erm, yes...but, it doesn’t have to be. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. As a date, I mean. Of course I would rather if you did, but...” his mouth continued to rattle on without input from his brain, which was quite understandable given that the only two phrases which were circling around in there were: _She doesn’t want to_ and _She’s going to say ‘no’._

Her quiet, tinkling laugh was what finally made him stop his tirade and look back at her with wide eyes. “You’re cute when you’re nervous,” she stated, words which caused him to blush deeper than he already was. “And I would love to spend Harvest Day with you. As a date.” She affirmed.

“T-thank you, Mira,” Freed breathed out, relief washing over him.

“Don’t thank me. You make it sound like I’m doing it as a favour. I’m not. I’m doing it because I want to.” She pressed her lips together, thinking for a moment. “I’ll be busy for most of the day with preparations for the Miss. Fairy Tail contest and the parade...But there’s always the party which comes after that. We can go together! And that way, you’ll have enough time to rest and regain your strength before then.”

“You’re very considerate, Mira,” Freed said as he slid off the stool. He looked around, hesitantly, unsure of how he should proceed, now that the question had been asked. “Uhm, are you finished your close?” he asked.

Mira hummed an affirmative as she gathered up the medical supplies which littered the counter, placing them back into the first aid kit. “All I have to do is put this away and...done!”

“In that case I insist on walking you home,”

“Freed, you don’t have to,” Mira said, taking in his tired form with concerned eyes. “You’re tired as it is. You should go straight home.”

“I insist.”

“I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Your abilities are not in question, Mira,” Freed said. “I still have some scars to prove it.” The two faced each other, both with arms stubbornly crossed across their chests. Mira relented first.

“Fine,” she sighed. “Since you’re so insistent. I have a feeling that you’ll come with me regardless of what I say.” Freed smiled and offered her his elbow. With a slight roll of her eyes, she linked her arm in his. They left together, Mira shutting the lights on her way out.


	2. Of Evasion and Drunkenness

Mira sighed softly, drawing her polishing cloth lazily across the same spot of the bar for, perhaps, the thirtieth time.

“What’s up with you?” Cana asked. The brown-haired mage was sitting cross-legged across the bar, taking a swig from her personal barrel of beer as she waited for Mira to respond.

“Nothing,” Mira responded softly.

“Ya sure?” Cana asked, pointing at the surface of the bar with one slim finger, “Because if you polish that spot any more, you’re going to drill right through the table.”

Mira blinked down at the bar’s surface, and, with an over-exaggerated gesture, shifted down to the left, working now on making the rest of the bar match that one gleaming spot. Cana tilted her head to the side, studying the woman.

“So. Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice more gentle than it was before. “Or do I need to drag Erza over here as well?”

“What about me?” Both their heads swiveled in the direction of the Titania as she slipping onto the bar stool across from Mirajane.

“Mira’s upset.” Cana stated, much to Mirajane’s displeasure.

“I’m _fine,_ ” she insisted, her tone firm.

“Is this about your date?” Cana asked.

“You went on a date?!” Erza exclaimed, leaning forward now with interest. “When? With who? How did it go?”

Mira shot a glare in Cana’s direction, willing for patience as she turned to face Erza. “Harvest Day. With Freed. And it went...well,” she trailed off, a soft smile playing on her face as she recalled the night in question. “Really well...” Which it had.

That night, Freed had met her at the guild’s doors, looking quite dashing in a simple, black suit. They had walked down to the park together to enjoy the party which was thrown in the wake of the Fantasia Parade, Freed pointing out constellations to her as they made their way down the lantern-lined street. The rest of the night had gone perfectly as well, despite the fact that Freed had a semi-permanent blush dusting his cheeks the entire while, and stumbled his way through every compliment he tried to pay her. All in all, it was a perfect first date.

And she hadn’t seen him since.

Rather, she _had_ seen him, at least four or five times since then. Each time he’d catch a glance of her and go scurrying down the road, or duck into the nearest building. She’d always lose track of him after that, which meant that she could never get a hold of him long enough to ask: ‘why’. Why was he avoiding her? Had _she_ done something wrong? She had replayed the night over and over again in her mind, trying to pinpoint something that she might’ve said or done that would have sent him running, but, she still couldn’t make heads nor tails of his evasive behaviour.

“Mira. Oy. Miiiira~”

Mirajane blinked as Erza’s voice drew her out of her reverie. “Sorry,” she murmured.

“So, Freed, huh?” Erza asked, placing her elbows on the counter as she leaned closer to whisper conspiratorially to her friend. “I didn’t know that he was...well, I mean, I always thought that he was...y’know... _that_ way.”

“She means ‘gay’,” Cana clarified.

Mirajane’s eyebrows drew together in a rather impressive scowl. “Well, he’s the one who asked _me_ out,” she explained. Was the whole thing some kind of joke then? She didn’t think that Freed could be quite so...mean. But, then again, he _was_ a member of the Thunder God Tribe. Each member did have a touch of cruelty in them. She glared down at the bar, polishing it vigorously now, as though it had personally offended her.

“He freaked out that time on Tenrou,” Cana was explaining to Erza, “When I attacked him with the bikini card. I don’t think he’s a good enough of an actor to fake all that.”

“Well, if it’s not that then...what’s the problem? What did he do?”

“Nothing!” She slammed the cloth down with more force than necessary, tossing her hands in the air in frustration. “He did _nothing_ wrong. In fact, the entire night was perfect. He was sweet and polite and...” she growled. “And hasn’t talked to me since.”

“So what did _you_ do?” Erza asked, having the decency to quail under the force of Mirajane’s glare. She hadn’t been on the receiving end of _that_ look in quite a while. It brought back almost pleasant memories of their old rivalry.

Mira sighed, the anger draining away from her moments later, to be replaced by melancholy. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “I haven’t been able to get a hold of him to ask.”

“You know what you need?” Cana asked. Mira turned her head to look at her. “A drink.”

“Cana,” Erza chided, “Not everything can be solved by alcohol.”

“No,” Mira said, reaching down under the bar to withdraw a bottle of her own. “It can’t. All the same,” she popped the top off the bottle and took a hearty swig. “Maybe I _will_ have a drink.” Mirajane had become significantly more level-headed since her transformation from her demon days, but, all the same, every now and then she’d be seized by some imperious urge or another. Usually she fought it, but, at this particular moment, she was happy to toss herself over to it, if it meant not having to _think_ about things, if only for a short while.

***

Freed plodded down the road, head down, all but dragging his feet behind him as he made his way home for the night. He had just come back from a mission, one that he had taken soon after one of his near-encounters with Mira after their Harvest Day date. It had been a week since then, and, by all accounts, he should have been ecstatic, but he wasn’t. He felt more miserable and out of sorts than he did since before he had asked her out.

The entire night had been perfect. Beyond perfect. He couldn’t have dreamed for anything better.

And this was precisely why he hadn’t tried to speak to her again after the fact.

As far as Freed was concerned, Mirajane was the moon: a shining beacon of purity, a guiding light in the darkness. No one could hope to claim it for their own.

So how could he, Freed ‘ _The Dark_ ’ Justine, hope to be worthy of that? He had been compelled by the depth of his feelings for her to ask her out, and while he would treasure that night for the rest of his days, he couldn’t hope to ask for a second. He, quite simply, wasn’t good enough. He refused to corrupt her, to taint her with his darkness. Because, at the end of the day, no matter how hard he tried, he would still be the man who almost killed Elfman Strauss, her own brother. She deserved better, so much better than a would-be murderer.

He looked up at the moon, sitting against the midnight-blue backdrop of the night sky, and his heart clenched painfully as he was reminded of her luminous hair, her porcelain skin, and her sparkling eyes. He tore his eyes away from the heavens, fixing them determinedly on the road in front of him.

And there she was.

He blinked twice, his mouth dropping open at the sight of his love picking her way carefully down the road opposite to him, holding herself up against the brick walls with one, pale hand. Her steps were lacking their usual grace, and she was listing heavily to one side as she walked.

Concern for her well-being warred with his urge to flee her presence, and he stood rooted to the spot as the battle raged on within him. Worry finally won out, and he crossed the road, hurrying to her side.

“Miss. Mira?” he asked, by way of announcing his presence. She whipped around to face him, nearly falling over her own feet due to the sudden motion. His arms automatically snapped out to steady her, and she leaned against him, staring up at him with wide, blue eyes.

“Freed.” His name was but a whisper on her lips. The sound of it, coupled with the elated look in her eyes summoned yet another blush to his cheeks. She stepped forward, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist as she buried her face against the soft surface of his coat. He stood there, frozen, unsure of what to do with his hands, or with the rest of his body, for that matter. He had only just decided to settle them around his narrow shoulders when he was pushed backward, roughly. He stumbled, catching his balance at the last minute.

“You!” In that instant the expression on her face flipped from happiness, to anger. Mira scowled at him, and he felt dark energy gather around her slight form. His eyes widened and he took a couple hasty steps backward, trying to put some distance between them before she transformed.

And then, as soon as it came, it was gone, magic energy blown away like so much dust in the wind. Her shoulders slumped and she looked down. She could feel a familiar tightness in her throat, the type which came just as she was about to cry. She gulped past it, sweeping her hand across her eyes as she brushed away the tears. “Why did you run away?” she asked.

Her voice was so quiet that, even against the silence of the night air, he had to strain to hear her. “I...” he looked down himself, suddenly at a loss for words. “I didn’t think I—Mira!” He jumped forward, catching her just as she tilted dangerously to one side. She settled herself more comfortably in his grasp, looking up at his face, a sad expression playing across her own. His stomach clenched guiltily. _He_ had put that there.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked. She was close enough this time that he could smell the alcohol on her breath. She was drunk. Very much so.

He shook his head vehemently. “No. No Mira,” he assured her. “You did nothing wrong. The problem lies with me, not you.” She tilted her head to one side, confused, and he shook his head again. There was no use explaining himself to her when she was far too drunk to be able to remember it the next day. “Come on. Let’s get you home.” He gently scooped her up into his arms, trying very hard to keep his thoughts on the road, and not on the way she curled herself closer to him, resting her cheek on his shoulder, or how it felt to have her breath brushing against throat with every exhale (and the accompanying tingle that it down his spine).

“Where _is_ home?” he asked her. She raised her head from his shoulder, looking this way and that.

“Home is...that way?” she pointed, then shook her head. “No. That way....Or is it...?” She looked this way and that, her expression decidedly puzzled.

“My place it is,” Freed said, cutting her off. At this rate he’d be wandering around Magnolia until sunrise.

“Okay.” She conceded easily, tucking her head under his chin as she snuggled into his grip.

As he walked, Freed murmured a prayer to whatever Gods were out there that he wouldn’t, at any point, run into Elfman while he was carrying his very drunk, very _friendly_ sister to his home.


	3. Of Too-Little Clothing

The first droplets of rain began to patter down just as Freed reached the short iron-wrought gate which ran around the perimeter of his home. As he passed through the gate he felt the faint pull, indicating that he had crossed through into a region of space guarded by one of his rune enchantments. The enchantment was cast in such a way that it would only allow listed 'friends' to enter his home. Unlisted individuals would be able to step up to the door, but would find it barred by a rune wall. Listed enemies, on the other hand, wouldn't even be able to get past the front gate.

He was grateful for this protection now more than ever. Since the rune barrier protected his home, Freed never felt the need to lock his doors, or carry around a set of keys for that matter. Thus, his biggest concern at the moment was figuring out how to get his hand around the door knob without having to set Mirajane down onto the ground. He wasn’t sure if he would have been able to hold her and unlock the door as well.

***

The inside of Freed’s house was more or less exactly what Mirajane imagined that it would be (not that Mira spent much time imagining his home, mind you). The place was immaculate and painstakingly organized. Bookshelves lined almost every visible wall. As she was carried inside, she caught a glimpse of an elaborate kitchen beyond one of the far walls. It was dark, but not oppressively so: it was the cozy kind of darkness, the kind that spoke of whispered words and candlelight. She felt herself being set down on a bench set near the front door, and she looked up to see Freed standing above her.

“I’ll be right back,” he told her, and vanished from her view. He returned a moment later and picked her back up again. As before, she settled more comfortably into his hold. She looked around. Something felt...different. Was he shorter? She glanced down at noticed that he had taken the split second to take off his boots before he brought her inside. She smiled at his anal retentiveness. Freed Justine was certainly a man of strict routines.

A slight incline informed her that she was being carried upstairs. A moment or two later and she found herself in a lovely bedroom. Freed set her down against the red satin material of his bed sheets and a sigh escaped her as she felt herself being enveloped by silky softness, and a smell that was so distinctly _him_ : wood, and spice and old books. She felt her shoes being taken off, and a soft ‘click’ noise from the foot of the bed informed her that they had been set down there.

Grinning, she sat up and reached for him, curling her hand into the white cravat at his throat. “Stay?” she asked, as she felt him pull away. The ensuing blush turned his face nearly the same red as his coat and she couldn’t help but giggle at his shyness.

He began to mumble something which sounded like: “You’re not thinking properly” and “I really couldn’t,” and “...should get you a glass of water,” among other several other half-spoken things. Mira used her hold on his collar to pull herself upward, placing her lips next to his ear. “Please?” she asked, drawing the word out.

He flinched backward, then, and Mira suddenly found herself holding onto the white material of his cravat, but with no Freed attached to it. She spotted him a second later, having somehow teleported himself across the room, standing at the door, still very red in the face.

“Please make yourself comfortable,” he said, stiffly. “I’ll be back with a glass of water for you...as soon as we flush the intoxicant out of you the better. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you need until you’re well again.”

“With you?” Mira asked, her words still slurring together. Though, even with her blurred vision, she didn’t miss the effect that her words had on him. She felt a strange, almost sadistic pleasure in the knowledge that she could reduce the normally unflappable Freed to nothing more than mush with just a few choice words. He bowed to her, and then quickly vanished into the gloom of the hallway.

Mira sat up, glancing around the room that she now found herself alone in. Her senses might’ve been dulled by drink, but her deeply embedded warrior’s instinct told her to get some bearing on her surroundings before she allowed herself to get too comfortable. A glance told her that the massive bed upon which she was seated was pushed up against the left-most wall, with a grand, renaissance-styled dresser across from it. She noted a door beside it, most likely leading into the en-suite bathroom. A window on the far wall looked out into a magnificent view of the night sky.

She leaned back against the soft sheets, snuggling into the pillows stacked at the head of the bed. Mira curled one arm under the pillow to support her head, reveling in the feeling of cool satin against her skin. Though, despite the lush bedding, she couldn’t quite get comfortable, as per Freed’s earlier suggestion.

She quickly realized why. She couldn’t sleep in her outdoor clothes! She slipped out of the bed and got cautiously to her feet. Once she was certain that the ground wasn’t going to rise up and attack her, she reached behind her back, fishing for the tab of the zipper that held her dress shut. She turned on the spot for a moment (looking a bit like a puppy chasing its tail) before she managed to catch hold of the zipper and pull it down. She slipped the dress off her shoulders, letting the pink material puddle to the ground. With that, she hopped back onto the bed, hair spreading out like a halo of white against the dark bedding.

***

Freed took a brief moment to take off his, belt, sword and coat, hanging all three up in the front hall closet. Habits were hard to break. He just didn’t feel right wearing his coat and sword inside his own home, in the same way that he felt naked without both when he was out of doors.

After filling a glass with water, Freed headed back up the stairs from the kitchen. He couldn’t help but wonder on her odd behaviour as he walked back towards his bedroom. Mirajane was always so incredibly... _responsible._ Drinking herself into the edge of oblivious seemed such a un-Mira like thing to do. Had he somehow triggered this?

Granted, Freed knew little of the other woman, aside from the facts that were common knowledge to everyone: she had arrived at the guild at a rather young age, accompanied by her two younger siblings. After the apparent ‘death’ of Lisanna, her personality had drastically flipped from arrogant, brash and downright demonic, to the sweet and kind woman that everyone knew today.

Freed, having joined the guild when he was in his early teens, had been witness to the change. At the time, however, he hadn’t thought much of it. At that point in his life, he had been even more quiet and withdrawn than he was in his later years, and thus, spent little time paying attention to anything but his studies. He rarely left the guild’s small, downstairs library, except to go to Magnolia’s much larger, main library, or to eat, or go home and sleep.

He would likely still be as quiet and bookish (or, more accurately speaking, even _more_ quiet and bookish) had it not been for Makarov’s repeated attempts to get him to accompany his grandson on missions. Freed realized, years later, that the Master was probably hoping that Freed’s more subdued personality would have an equally calming effect on Laxus. It was a shame that it didn’t really work out that way.

A curious thing happened, all those years ago, when Freed finally caved into Makarov’s request: he found that he enjoyed himself. Of course, Laxus was hot-headed and brutish, loud and dense, and so unlike Freed in every possible way that he couldn’t be anything but constantly annoyed with him during those early days.

For his part, Laxus also disliked the idea of having to go on missions with a partner. This scrawny little green-haired _boy_ was only going to slow him down, and it didn’t matter if he was an accomplished swordsman or not. He only agreed to the partnership to get his grandfather off his back, if only for a little while.

Needless to say, those early days were rough, to say the least. Over time Freed stopped being quite so annoyed with Laxus all the time. He began to admire the other man for his strength and courage, having come to realize that, underneath the bravado and arrogance, was a man with a truly good heart. Evidently Laxus’ feelings toward him changed as well, going from resignation, to grudging respect, and then finally, to something akin to friendship. The Lightning Dragon Slayer never said anything, of course, but it was clear that Freed was one of the few people that he’d allow to fan and mother over him to such extremes. Anyone else would be met with a lightning-bolt to the face.

They were joined later on, first by Bickslow, and then by Evergreen. Freed was suddenly surrounded by more friends than he ever thought he would have. He was perfectly content with the insular existence provided to him by being a member of the Thunder God Tribe, and didn’t care to try and find anything, or anyone else.

In fact, he barely noticed Mirajane, or any other woman (or man) in the guild until the day of the Battle of Fairy Tail. Even then, he wasn’t blind to her beauty, but, as far as he was concerned, she was nothing more than Fairy Tail’s pretty, kind, devoted barmaid, reduced to servitude after having developed a block after her sister’s death. She wasn’t worth his attention.

Oh, how wrong he was. Mirajane was so much more than just a pretty face. On top of being kind and sweet she was also extremely intelligent, (a trait that he held in such high regard), and funny, (in her own way), and not to mention strong, despite her deceivingly delicate frame. She had beaten him into a pulp during the Battle of Fairy Tail; even though she had been out of practice for so many years.

It’s a pity that he hadn’t realized any of that beforehand. If he had, he would have pursued her sooner, before Laxus attempted to take over the guild. Then maybe the entire crisis could have been averted. He might’ve had the courage to speak out against that terrible idea. He wouldn’t have ever gotten to the point of having almost killed Elfman. He was soiled now, his crimes having blackened his soul far more than his dark magic ever could have. He wasn’t worthy of her now, nor could he ever be.

He reached the landing at the top of the stairs and turned left, his feet instinctively guiding him down the hall to his room. He was debating whether or not to bring out a bottle of painkillers for Mirajane as well (no doubt she’d have a killer of a headache, come the morning), when he saw her.

There she was, the object of his affections, spread across on his bed ( _his bed!_ ) in nothing but her underwear (black and lacy, his brain dimly noted), as though she were in the middle of a Sorcerer Weekly photo shoot. The glass slipped through his suddenly nerveless fingers, clattering to the ground, spilling its contents across the wooden surface of the floor. Distantly, he was glad that the cup was made of an unbreakable form of glass, which would make cleaning up the spill all that much easier.

For the most part, however, he was focused entirely on her: her face, the gentle curve of her neck, the swell of her breasts, her flat, perfect stomach and shapely legs (which just seemed to go on _forever_ ). The noise seemed to have roused her from her light nap, and her eyes flickered open. She turned her head towards him and smiled, rolling onto her stomach in one, smooth, graceful move as she looked down at the floor. “You dropped something,” she told him.

He didn’t quite hear her. Her new position allowed for a new and rather magnificent view of her cleavage and behind. He tore his eyes away from her and fixed them firmly onto the floor, trying to marshal his thoughts into some semblance of order. There was a spill. He should address that before the water damaged the floor in any way.

“Freed?”

“Your clothes,” he said weakly, pointing to her dress on the ground.

“I usually sleep in my underwear...What?” she asked, tilting her head to the side, “You said to get comfortable. I did.”

“So you did...” He wondered whether the woman was still drunk and, therefore, doing this all innocently, or purposely toying with him in retaliation for him having avoided her for so long, post-date. He cleared his throat and turned his back on her. “I should get some paper towels—“

“You don’t like me, do you?”

The softly spoken words made him stop mid-step, and he looked over his shoulder at her. She looked so sad right then, and he gripped the doorframe tightly with one hand as he tried to keep from running over to her. “No, Mira, I do like you. Very much so,” he told her, sincerely.

Her expression brightened instantly. “You do?” Then, somehow, despite her drunkenness, she was behind him, gently wrapping her arms around him and pressing herself to his back. He stiffened instantly, back going ram-rod straight as his fingernails dug into the wood of the doorframe.

“You don’t have to be scared,” she told him, though her words were slightly muffled, given that she was talking against his back. “It’s okay.”

“Mira...” It would be so easy to give in. But he didn’t deserve her kindness, much less deserve her affection.

“Just stay with me. Don’t run away again.”

He shook his head, opening his mouth to explain to her exactly _why_ he couldn’t allow himself to get close to her, but the arms around him squeezed him tighter. “Just one night. Not asking for anything else. Just stay with me, one night.”

He said nothing, trying to organize an argument that would make sense to her, even in her drunken state. It all fell apart a second later.

“If you like me, then you want to make me happy, don’t you?” If he hadn’t been so dumbfounded by the question, he might’ve noticed that her tone was rather coy. “Don’t you?” she pressed.

“Of course I do.”

“Then stay,” she said, as though it was as simple as that. The soft pressure of her form against him vanished a second later when she pulled away. Mira placed a gentle hand on his arm, coaxing him to follow. Freed tried to stay where he was, but one firm tug on his arm later and he relented, allowing her to guide him back to the bed. She lifted the edge of the blanket before sliding in underneath.

He paused for a moment, and then brushed down the blanket and climbed in after her, making sure to stay _above_ the covers. She frowned at him, confused, but he simply shook his head and closed his eyes, a silent indication that he was _done_ talking. Not like he had much to say anyway.

Mira bit her lip in a moment’s thought, then wriggled closer to him, placing one hand on his arm and resting her head on his shoulder. Freed, meanwhile, kept his hands and arms carefully by his sides. He was unwilling to touch her, knowing that he might be unable to stop if he did. Freed prided himself on his self control, but this situation was pushing him to about as far as he could handle. 

Bit by bit, both slowly drifted off to sleep.


	4. Of a Much-Needed Talk

The sun peeked over the horizon, beginning its daily journey across the sky. Pure, golden light reached out across the land, banishing the night’s darkness. One such tendril of light worked itself through a small crack in Freed’s curtains, bathing the foot of his bed in light. Slowly, as the sun continued to rise, the beam of light inched its way further up the bed, eventually landing in a strip across Mirajane’s eyes.

The brightness roused her from her sleep, and she cracked open one eye to glare at the offending gap in the curtains. _Damn._ Usually she made sure that the drapes were fully closed before she went to bed, with the express purpose of avoiding this kind of issue.

Mira was an early riser, yes. She made it a point to be the first one to arrive at the guild in the morning to ensure that she could have breakfast ready for all those who lived in the nearby Fairy Hills, and for those who lived outside of Fairy Tail’s dormitories, but, were nonetheless ill prepared (or generally disinclined) to make their own breakfasts.

That being said, waking up at sunrise was a bit much, even for her. This would have been the case even if she _hadn’t_ currently been plagued by a headache that seemed to want to split her head in half. Her entire body felt heavy and tired, and she was most definitely _not_ ready to get out of bed.

Mira groaned and turned over, moving to bury her face in her pillow; her unusually satiny, masculine-smelling pillow. A brief glance informed her that her sheets had been transformed from their usual flower-printed cotton, into maroon silk.

She was struck by one realization and two questions:

This was not her bed.

Why was this not her bed?

How had she gotten here?

As sleepiness slowly drifted away to be replaced by conscious wakefulness, she became aware of a heavy weight across her midsection and froze. Any hints of tiredness promptly vanished then, pushed out by the flood of adrenaline which usually accompanied feelings of anxiety.

This was not her room, and this was certainly not her bed. More importantly, wherever she was, she was _not alone._

She cautiously turned her head, trying to get her bearings. She would have jumped out of bed then and there, with the intent on beating the living lights out of whomever had the idea to take advantage of her drunken state (because, at this point, she had at least figured out that her headache was a product of a vast alcohol intake), had she not noticed the symbol painted on the hand which belonged to the arm currently wrapped firmly around her waist.

Only two people in Fairy Tail had their guild mark stamped onto the back of their hand. One was Lucy, and hers was pink. This was green.

Mira let out a breath and relaxed, the tension ebbing from her limbs. She closed her eyes, trying to figure out how she had gotten here. She recalled drinking with Cana and Erza...but, for the life of her, she could not remember exactly what had happened from the time she had tottered out of the guild, to this morning, and how exactly she had ended up in his bed. Not that she minded, really, but she would rather have remembered the details in-between now and then.

She turned over carefully, unwilling to rouse him from his sleep. Freed lay above the covers of the bed, still fully dressed in his usual dress shirt and black pants. She surmised that he must have gotten cold over the course of the night because, he had, evidently, drawn closer to her in an instinctive desire for warmth, resulting in his arm across her stomach and his face a few scant inches from her own.

Speaking of his face...Freed looked so...peaceful in slumber, and so much younger without that carefully blank mask that he always wore.

 _“Cute,”_ she decided, to herself.

And his eyes...she hadn’t realized that they were so...blue; the bright true-blue of a clear summer’s sky.

Wait.

Eyes?

She froze, caught in the act of watching him. He blinked drowsily at her, giving her a half-smile before his brain managed to catch up to what his eyes were showing him. The smile vanished to be replaced by a look of dim panic, and, a second later he was up and out of the bed, stumbling away from her.

“S-sorry-”

“No, please don’t,” Mira cut him off before he could continue apologizing for nothing. “I know you were only trying to take care of me,” she added, sitting up. As the blanket fell from her chest, she became aware of the fact that she was clad in nothing but her underwear. Freed looked away quickly and, with a slightly bemused smile, Mira drew the comforter back up to cover herself, a gesture which was more for his sake than hers.

 _“Oh my...Poor Freed,”_ she thought to herself. Cana had wasted no time in informing the guild of her discovery of Freed’s one ‘weakness’. She knew as well as any of the guild that he wasn’t comfortable around scantily clad women. She was mildly surprised that he hadn’t abandoned his house (or, at the very least, his room), in an attempt to give her privacy. She must have been _extraordinarily_ compelling the night before, given the fact that she had, somehow, gotten him to stay. In the same bed no less.

Not for the first time that morning, she wondered what had happened the night before. She opened her mouth to ask just that (after all, _he_ was the sober one, so he’d remember), but he beat her to the punch.

“I-I’ll get you something to eat. And something for that hangover of yours as well.”

Mira tried to say that he really didn’t need to go through all of that fuss for her sake (but she was very flattered), but he kept talking.

“And please, feel free to wash up. Use whatever you need.” And with that, he was gone.

Mira sighed, burying her face in her hands. This wasn’t going well. How was she supposed to nail him down long enough to actually have a conversation with him?

 _“With an actual nail,”_ her brain provided. Well...if he continued to be so evasive, she’d have to resort to such extreme measures. Chuckling to herself softly, she slipped out of bed and padded to the bathroom.

***

By the time she got downstairs she was feeling much more human. The sound of sizzling oil and the smell of pancakes drifted up the stairs to greet her as she descended them. It made her smile. She followed her nose to the kitchen to find Freed working busily in front of the stove, a look of intense concentration on his face as he tossed the pancake in the air, deftly catching it in the pan to flip it again.

“I haven’t had breakfast made for me in...forever,” Mira told him as she entered. He flinched at the sound of her voice, nearly missing his next catch. “And don’t worry,” she added teasingly, “I’m fully dressed now.”

“Thank you,” he replied, sounding sincere.

“No problem.”

A decidedly awkward silence stretched between them after that.

Mira took a breath. _“Well, now or never...”_

“Freed...?” she began.

“Doesn’t Miss. Lisanna cook?” he asked, suddenly. Mira blinked twice at the unexpected question.

“Lisanna is...learning,” she replied. Her younger sister’s cooking abilities had improved tenfold since her return from Edolas, but she still had a long way to go. “And honestly, you don’t want Elfman near a stove.”

“I wouldn’t think so,” he chuckled. “Eh! I mean. I wouldn’t presume to judge! He just never struck me as the cooking sort,” he added hastily, looking pained.

“He’s not. And please relax.”

His shoulders remained as tense as ever as he reached over to snag a nearby plate, sliding the finished pancake onto it and passing it to Mirajane. “For you.”

“Thank you. But I hope you don’t intend to silence me with food. We need to talk.”

The four words that no man wanted to hear. Freed sighed internally. “We do,” he conceded.

Mira made herself at home at the dining table, taking the proffered fork and cutting off a small piece to eat. “Banana?” she asked.

Freed nodded, staring down at his own yet-untouched breakfast.

“It’s good.”

“Thank you.”

“So, why did you run away?” she asked, in the same tone of voice which suggested that she was still discussing inane matters. Unhurriedly, she cut off another slice of pancake, chewing on it slowly as she waited for him to gather his thoughts.

Finally, after a long while he said: “Do you know how my ‘Darkness’ spell works?”

“No,” she responded, with a faint frown. “And don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not. It’s relevant, I promise.”

She gave him a look which suggested that he better start talking, and quickly.

He did.

“Like all Dark Écriture spells it is nothing but a simple command. A rule. Conceptually it is similar to how ‘Pain’ will inflict hurt on the target, or how ‘Wings’ allows me to fly. ‘Pain’ summons pain, ‘wings’ summon wings. ‘Darkness’ meanwhile...it summons darkness; not the kind which lies outside of the body, but the kind which lies within. It brings to the fore every dark, evil thought, every malicious desire, every bit of spite which lies within a person and gives it shape. And this is why it is considered forbidden magic. It forces the user to wallow in it, to succumb to their worst self, embodied in the shape of the demon. And you saw my demon. It’s...” he cast around for the right word. “Ugly,” he decided. “And twisted...completely unlike yours.”

He looked at her then, his eyes conveying a mixture of admiration and self pity in equal measure. Her breath caught in her throat. He looked more expressive in that moment than she had ever seen him. “Even your demon is beautiful,” he told her, his voice soft, almost reverential. “Because that is what you are on the inside. Lovely. Perfect.”

She blushed at that. She was well used to getting compliments about her appearance. But to have her demon be described as beautiful was a unique experience. It was somehow more heartfelt...more meaningful than anything that she had heard before.

“I...am not,” Freed continued. “You saw what I am, what I _truly_ am. You saw the evil that lies within. And this is precisely why I ran. I could not bring myself to admit this to you, and yes, it was cowardly and I apologize, but believe me when I say that I did it with your best interests at heart. I could not live with myself if I somehow tainted you with my darkness.” The words came in a rush at the end, and, once he was finished speaking, he was back to staring at his plate, looking despondent, but firmly resigned to his decision. “I cannot allow you to be with someone as unworthy as I.”

“I see,” Mira replied, quietly. She reached forward to take a delicate sip of the oddly greenish drink that he had given her (which was supposedly a hangover cure of some sort). Though it looked hideous, it tasted of strawberries and honey. She supposed that she could stomach it despite the colour.

Freed, meanwhile, sighed softly, happy that she had chosen to listen to him, happy that they could stop _fighting_ about this and things could go back to the way things were, before he had the audacity to ask her out.

The sudden clatter of her chair hitting the tiled surface of his kitchen floor made him look back up, though not soon enough for him to avoid Mira as she tackled him bodily to the ground. For the second time in his life Freed found himself flat on his back, with a very angry Mirajane on top of him. He could practically see the magic energy gathering around her person – a dangerous aura indeed. Freed gulped.

The entire guild was scared of Erza. How foolish they were. _Mirajane_ was clearly the far more fearsome of the two. The only reason the rest of them didn’t know it was because they never had the misfortune of being on the receiving end of her wrath.

“And what gives you the right to make decisions for me?” she asked him, her voice icy.

Freed jaw dropped open. “W-what? I wasn’t—“

“Yes,” she snapped, “You _are_. You made a decision for me the moment you said that you were unworthy. Because, here’s a news flash: It’s up to _me_ to decide whether or not you’re good enough.”

His jaw opened and closed like a fish out of water as he searched for some way to respond to that. “I-I...”

“I nothing,” she hissed, cutting off his meagre attempts at placating her. “I’ll have you know that I already decided that you were good enough. I decided that the moment you asked me out. Why else do you think I said ‘yes’?”

“Out of the goodness of your heart?” he supplied.

Her hand twitched as she resisted the urge to slap him. “Kindness has nothing to do with it,” she told him, tersely. “I’ve turned down enough people in my life, and I know how to do it nicely. So, do you honestly think that I would’ve agreed to go out with you if I didn’t actually want to?”

The expression on his face told her that ‘yes’, yes he did think so.

“Do you want me to explain to you _why_ I think you’re good enough?” she asked.

He nodded mutely.

Mira settled herself more comfortably across his thighs, noting (with some sadistic pleasure), the look of discomfort on Freed’s face. She wasn’t quite sure whether it was due to her proximity, or if she was actually hurting him from sitting on him like she was. Regardless, she wasn’t in a mood to care. She’d count that as his punishment for avoiding her as long as he had.

“Do you know the kind of men that usually ask me out?” she asked him.

“I can’t say that I’ve spent much time thinking of all the men from your past,” he replied, instantly and without inflection.

“Hmm?” she hummed as she considered the point. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” she said, a hint of amusement colouring her tone. “And for the record, it really hasn’t been that many. But, usually, the sort that ask me out are...” she thought for a moment, trying to think of the perfect descriptor. “Pushy,” she decided.

He arched a green eyebrow at her. “Pushy?”

“Pushy,” she confirmed. “Expecting more from me sooner than I’m willing to give,” she added, by means of clarification. Most men that asked her out weren’t fully conscious of what ‘S-class’ actually meant. All they saw was the pretty pin-up girl, little more than arm candy. They misjudged her based on her looks, thinking that she was stupid or weak, someone who could be easily manipulated.

Oh, how wrong they were. It was no small wonder that she hadn’t ever had a long-term relationship. She hadn’t been on a date since Lisanna’s death, and her switch from ‘Demon Mira’ to Fairy Tail’s resident barmaid.

Freed’s expression darkened at an alarming rate as he thought through the implications of what she had just said. Mira watched with mild amusement as his features rearranged themselves from thoughtful to downright murderous (as it finally clicked), all in under ten seconds. She could see the purple flicker behind his right eye, his magic at the fore, responding automatically at the sudden burst of emotion. “Who?” he asked, darkly.

Mira smiled down at him and shook her head, reaching out one slim finger to tap his nose. “No one,” she told him, watching as he blinked rapidly before lifting a hand to rub his nose, the murderous air now gone. _“It’s like he comes with a reset button,”_ she thought to herself, bemused. She filed the information away for later.

“I can, very obviously, take care of myself,” she said, gesturing first to herself, and then widely at him, and his flattened state on the ground. The corner of his lip twitched upwards in the beginnings of a smile.

“I suppose,” he admitted.

“You suppose right. Now, as I was saying...When you asked me out, you weren’t asking for Mirajane the model or Mirajane the S-class mage. You were asking out Mirajane the person.”

He tilted his head to the side, seeming slightly confused. “Aren’t you those things as well?”

“I am. But my modelling career and my take-over isn’t the entirety of what I am. And when you started to learn even more about me you didn’t push. You did quite the opposite, in fact. You ran. You put aside your own feelings in order to do what you felt was best for _me._ I’m not saying that was the right thing for you to do,” she added, quickly. There was no need for Freed to try and run from her again. That would be unacceptable. “But I understand the intent. It’s sweet, I guess. Misguided, but sweet.”

“As for your demon...” She leaned closer to him, distantly noting that the colour dusting his cheeks seemed to be directly influenced by her distance from his face. The closer she got, the redder he became. “I can handle that. I did before, didn’t I?” Mild embarrassment flickered across his face as he remembered just how _easily_ she had handled it.

“Do we understand each other now?” Mira asked, sweetly. Freed nodded. “Do you know what’s going to happen to you if you try and run away again?”

Freed thought for a moment and then waggled a finger between them. “This?” he guessed. “With significantly more collateral damage, I’d assume.”

“Yes.” She finally took pity on him and lifted herself off of his lap, rising to her feet and brushing the wrinkles out of her dress. “Now, how are you going to make this up to me?” she asked, playfully.

Freed clambered to his feet, rubbing his now sore back. It had taken the brunt of the pressure from her sudden tackle. “Dinner?” he suggested.

“Tonight,” she decided, with a nod. “You cook.” She realized that she rather _liked_ being cooked for.

She glanced at the nearest clock and her eyes widened. “I’m late.” She crammed the rest of her pancake into her mouth before hopping back over to Freed for a quick hug. “I’ll see you tonight. Seven?”

“Sure.”

Mira grinned up at him and then, rising up on tiptoe, planted a kiss on his cheek. He froze in place, watching as she exited the kitchen. He heard her walk down the hall to his front door, opening it.

“Oh, hi, Laxus,” he heard her say.

 _“...Laxus?”_ he thought, which was quickly followed by, _“Shit.”_

Freed hurried out into the hall to see Laxus standing in his doorway, looking puzzled. Mira, on the other hand, looked thoroughly entertained.

“Mira?” Laxus asked, his deep voice echoing easily down the hall. Green eyes glanced past her, picking out the form of Freed behind her. He raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Why are you...?” he trailed off.

Mira grinned, swatting him to one side with the back of her hand. “He can explain,” she told him, cheerily. “I’m off to the guild. Bye, Freed. _See you tonight.”_

Freed buried his face in his palm. He had a lot of explaining to do.

“I promise you, this is _not_ what it looks like.”


	5. Of Careful Explanations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to all of you lovely people who took the time to write a review. They've really helped me get out of my writer's block and get posting again! Thank you.   
> Enjoy!

Laxus had mentally prepared for this. He wasn’t normally a man of much forethought, as evidenced by the Battle of Fairy Tail debacle. However, he had done his best to plan for this – what he wanted to say and, if all else failed him, what he was planning to do. His plan was simpl: tell Freed, in no uncertain terms, to grow a pair. He didn’t see the point in Freed tying himself in emotional knots because of his misguided sense of honour. It would be far, far easier, for all parties involved, if Freed just talked to Mira.  
  
If words failed (which they so often did, in his case), then there was always his default backup of body language. Laxus was fully prepared to bodily drag Freed to the guild hall and lock him in some storage room with Mirajane until the two sorted out whatever it was that they needed to sort out.

Yes, Laxus was prepared for all outcomes.

All of them except for _this:_ a rumpled-looking take-over mage exiting Freed's house at this ungodly hour of morning.

It took a full minute for Laxus to decide that he wasn’t looking at some fatigue-induced mirage and, what his eyes and nose were telling him was, in fact, true. This was Mirajane herself, not some eerily similar, white-haired phantom of the woman. Another moment of staring and Laxus managed to say: "How...?" Gray eyes tore themselves away from Mira's face to pick out Freed's form lurking inside the relative darkness of the house. "Did you...?”

"I'm sure Freed will be happy to explain," Mirajane chirruped, in a tone that Laxus recognized as one of sadistic amusement. "Now, if you'll excuse me," Mira said, cheerily swatting Laxus to one side with the back of one hand. In a move that could only be described as shocked obedience, Laxus shifted his not inconsiderable bulk, clearing the doorway for the petite woman to get through.

Mirajane pranced past him in a swirl of silver hair and pink ruffles. Laxus stared at her retreating back and promptly looked back over at Freed, arching a brow in a way that suggested that the green-haired mage had better start talking.

He did.

"L-laxus! It really isn't how it seems. She was..drunk and lost and I--"

"Drunk?" Laxus asked, stepping inside a shutting the door behind him. Amusement laced his tone, gray eyes glittering with poorly concealed mirth. "Well, I _had_ come over here to tell you get your head out of your ass and just _talk_ to her, but...I guess you were ahead of me. Hell, I woke up early and everything too," he said, sounding uncharacteristically miffed. He kicked off his shoes and padding into the kitchen, helping himself to Freed's untouched pancake. He deposited himself into his usual spot at the kitchen table, watching Freed struggle with his explanation.

To his credit, he gave Freed a full two minutes to retrieve his tongue from whatever feline currently had it in its clawed grasp. Laxus might not have been a patient man normally, but he did allow the members of his Tribe a lot more leeway than most people got. Actions which usually resulted in quick electrocution for everyone else only earned Freed, Evergreen and Bickslow a look that was equal parts annoyance and exhaustion.

That being said, Laxus had a limit to how long he was willing to wait for even Freed to get talking. He looked back down at his pilfered breakfast, cutting into it with his fork as he nonchalantly said, "So, I hear Demon Mira's one hell of a beast in the sack as well as battle. How'd it go?"

A look that could only be described as righteous, affronted rage took over Freed's normally taciturn features, transforming the man into something more appropriate to his epithet of 'Freed the Dark'.

"How _dare_ you!" he spat, with sudden venom. "Mirajane is a _lady_ , and one of the highest virtue, I might add. I won't have you bespoiling her name with such slander. Furthermore, you know that I would _never_ take advantage of someone in such an inebriated sta--"

Laxus must have had one hell of a shit eating grin on his face because Freed cut himself off suddenly, his ire draining away as realization took over. “You...you said that on purpose.” Blushing furiously, he stomped back over to the stove, feeling the intense need to busy himself with breakfast-making.

Laxus laughed. "Yeah I did,” he admitted, still grinning in his usual, cocky way. “I know that you wouldn't have taken advantage of her, Freed," he added, his tone softer, gentler. "You're not that kind of an asshole. You're not an idiot either." Mirajane herself would have beaten Freed to an inch of his life for having his way with her, followed by Elfman and then the rest of Fairy Tail. Freed wouldn't have survived by the time they were all done with him, nor would Laxus have done anything to stop them.

Freed might have been his friend but if someone was deserving of an ass-kicking, Laxus wasn’t going to stand in his way. After all, from personal experience he could confidently say that, getting taken down a peg or two was sometimes a good thing.

Only sometimes though.

Freed snorted softly in agreement. He set a few more pancakes down in front of him and he contentedly dug into the rest of his breakfast. "So what's next?" he asked Freed.

"Dinner. Somehow." Freed shook his head, looking and sounding rather amazed.

"Tonight?"

Freed nodded.

"Good. I'm tired of watching you mope around," Laxus stated, between mouthfuls.

"I did _not_ mope. I evaded."

"You moped,” Laxus countered. He paused for a moment, hesitating just a bit before adding, “Just...don't fuck this up." Laxus looked up to meet Freed’s eyes. "You both deserve some good."

Freed bit his tongue, refraining from saying anything regarding how he wasn't exactly what anyone could call 'good', and certainly nowhere near what Mirajane deserved. He merely nodded, looking back at the stove.

A companionable silence settled over the two of them, broken only by the occasional clink of silverware against porcelain, or the sizzle of warm oil as Freed poured more pancake dough into the frying pan. “So,” Laxus said, grinning once more. “Did you sleep in the same bed at least?”

_“Laxus!”_

 

***

Mira set her key into the lock of the guild door and frowned. Withdrawing, she tried the handle, finding the great double doors already unlocked. She stepped cautiously forward, to be instantly tackled by a pair of thin arms and teary-looking blue eyes. “Miraa~” Lisanna wailed, clinging to her. “You never came home last night. I was so worried!”

The pleasant warmth that she had felt since leaving Freed’s house evaporated to be replaced by cold guilt. She had spent such a lovely morning with Freed, but that feeling had soured with the realization that she had been shirking her sisterly duties to do it. “Lisanna! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to worry yo—“

“SIS!” another, deeper voice barked, and suddenly Mira found herself crushed against her younger sister, and held aloft.

“Elfman! You weren’t supposed to be back from your mission until tomorrow!”

“I...I was worried so I contacted him through comm-lacrima,” Lisanna admitted, her voice muffled.

“Did you travel all night then?” Mira asked, feeling the guilt triple within her. “Oh, you two,” Mira sighed, wiggling one arm free from Elfman’s bear hug in order to wrap it around Lisanna’s shoulders, letting her hand rest against Elfman’s bicep. “You didn’t have to worry so much,” she told them. “I was...staying at a friend’s for a night. It seemed too much to try and get home after all that beer,” she said. Technically it wasn’t a lie.

“Which friend?” Lisanna asked. She wasn’t interrogating her, Mira knew that. She was merely curious.

“Cana,” Mira lied. She didn’t think it was possible for her to feel any more poorly than she already did but...somehow she couldn’t tell them the truth. It hardly seemed like the right time, not now, not when they were so worried about her. Elfman in particular would have...a tough time accepting it. Mira could handle her brother, certainly, but she recognized that they’d all need to have a cool head before she delivered the news. “Elfman, you can put me down now, I’m not going to go anywhere. I am sorry to not have told you two. I just fell asleep as soon as I got there! There, there. Oh, Elfman, don’t cry! Lisanna, not you too! Oh...Come on, let me make you both some breakfast. We’ll all feel better on a full stomach, I promise.”


End file.
